


Deep Six

by xagentofchaos



Series: Fireflies [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Panic Attacks, dark!stiles, mentions of self harm, peter is worried about stiles' well-being
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3737284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xagentofchaos/pseuds/xagentofchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is back alive but Stiles is still torn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep Six

**Author's Note:**

> This part will probably not make any sense if you haven't read the first!
> 
> I had the 2nd part finished already so I figured I could give it to you now.  
> It's a bit short but it's like a filler.  
> All the explainations you need will appear in either the 3rd or the 4th part.  
> Hope you like it!
> 
> Song: Deep Six - Marilyn Manson  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9YJS4nTNsM

 

The vibrant, pink color of the sky playfully seduces the dark room on the sixth floor. Ravaging traffic screams beneath it, occupying the roads with its wheels on fire and stinking mess of hot exhaust. Even though the night has almost made its way through glistering light, creeping through cotton clouds which still barricades the canopy, people are still awake down there. Making their way down town, creating an air filled with sounds of chatting and unhappy emotions. 

Human kind is fragile, not weak but thin layered. They have an intelligent and complicated mind filled with answered, also not, questions. Humans are creators, builders and problem fixers. They have the most imaginative way to express themselves, both in good and bad ways. But they are still fragile. A sudden change in their environment can cause chaos in any way imaginable. There is jealousy, greediness and rage. Some people take to not give, weak to the taste of power. 

There are exceptionally few people with strong minds; a person who goes through mentally challenging wars and survives it. Someone who experienced breathtaking madness and yet walks out as if nothing’s happened; goes through life with a straight back. 

Peter has only met two of that kind, two that took his breath away with their strength. Not necessarily in muscle but in mind; the strength to survive through death. 

The first one was his mother, who walked through defiant men and obedient women, crushing between jealousies and manipulating power issues. Never hunching her back even once, not letting anyone question her strength. 

She wasn’t killed in the fire, wasn’t swiped along within the hungry flames. Instead she died proudly, protecting her family from hunters who took his father with them as well. Even in death, she is still the strongest woman on earth. 

The second one is Stiles, the dangly, pale boy with moles speckled on his skin. With a mind like him, anyone could go far in life. Reading into studies about science or solving crimes with highly educated men and women; solving puzzles, saving the world. The boy who went through hell for two years, almost ending himself because he was so torn. So fragile. 

“I read your poems,” Peter mumbles into the dark, having the traffic as background noises. Stiles is half on top of him; digging his nails into Peter’s chest, holding him tightly as if he’s afraid he’ll go. Or disappear, like last time they were in a white bed. Stiles doesn’t say anything but pretending that he’s asleep but Peter knows he isn’t, he recognizes the rapid breathing. “And I didn’t laugh.” How could he? Reading through the way his death was affecting his human lover, wasn’t a pleasant walkthrough. He can smell the panic and scars on Stiles still. 

“I killed those people,” Stiles whispers, on the edge of tears, shaking a bit under the duvet. He reeks of anxiety. 

“You had a cause,” Peter tries to comfort but knowing it’s like telling a dead dog to sit. 

“You don’t understand,” Stiles suddenly sits up, facing Peter through the night’s blanket, eyes shining from the pale of the moon. He looks terrified, clutching onto Peter’s arm to not break apart. “I liked it.” It’s merely a whisper, if not quieter; barely even words coming out of his mouth. Stiles was never hungry for power when ending those peoples life, never searching for redemption in his empty stomach. It was all for a cause, whether or not you like to look at it that way. 

He did it for revenge, honoring Peter’s name in the hunter’s empty eyes. Having almost an orgasmic sensation doing so wasn’t his fault. 

“You were torn.” 

“I was a monster.” He’s crying now; visible tears are crashing down on his cheeks, his whole face trembling. The air smells like a panic attack and Stiles can barely breathe. Peter pushes himself up from the laying position and scoops Stiles into his strong arms, holding him closely and hums comforting into his ear. “And- and look at me now.” He shows his arms and legs to Peter, eyes bloodshot with sadness. “I look like one too.” 

“You’re telling me,” Peter says slowly, increasing warmth into every word. “that someone who’s been winning a battle is a monster just because the traces are still visible?” He pauses for a second to let the boy suck the purpose of his words dry. “Stiles, you are a war hero.”

“A war hero with a broken body and broken soul, who’ll possibly look at me and think ‘wow, he’s beautiful’?” 

“Me.” It was so truthfully honest that both of them almost got a sweet tooth. Peter smirks at Stiles’ deep red blush, like he’s still not used to get compliments from the wolf. A slight stung in his heart, when he realizes that all of their habits have been washed away. Two years is enough time to step back at a virginal level. “Do you want me to call you my princess a thousand times over to prove it?” 

Stiles smiles and rubs the prints of tears away but shakes his head, ducking away a little to hide the pink flesh on his skin. Peter could say tons of inappropriate stuff to break the shaky ice but he’s not. Figuring there’s still a stiffness between them, a pain that hasn’t been rubbed off just because they’ve spent three nights tangled together. 

After a moment of shy silence, Stiles reaches up to Peter’s face to place a feathery kiss on his lips. Exploring the taste, feel and electric sensation sparkling between them. But only on the surface, not deepening the kiss to give into the wave of feel-good pulses. Not letting himself have a good time because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Peter’s heart is racing with ache, only imagining the tormenting, anguishing pain the smaller boy had felt. Releasing an animalistic sound of pain from his throat, burying his face in Stiles’ neck; he tries his hardest to not give into his werewolf self. It would be so easy to just turn and never go back, run off into the forest and hide. Hide from life. Hide from Stiles. 

But he can’t. Some parts of him is refusing for his own obsessiveness over protecting what’s his, keeping the mole freckled boy in his zone of safety. Other parts is entirely for the boy; his anxiety is rubbing off on everything he touches and the panic he’s still feeling could kill him if he isn’t taken care of. Stiles is suffering deeply on the inside and needs a warm body to curl into. Whether or not they were lovers long before the tragedy evolved. He needs someone who understands his ache, who can map out the exact way a rush of hurt will look like. And that someone for Stiles is Peter. 

“I would do it again,” Stiles says between his teeth, biting down into Peter’s neck, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat when Peter shivers. “Not only to get revenge for people I love.” He continues, soothing his fingers over the skin, following the traces of merely visible freckles with his fingertips. “But because I’m good at it. And honestly,” he pauses, eyes dark as the pit of hell. “I haven’t had more euphoria in me since before you passed. It was the most awesome feeling.” 

The wishful thought of Stiles not being hungry for power, washes away as sand art on a wavy beach and Peter stares at him. He eats up Stiles’ pleased but secret grin with his eyes, not quiet realizing just how deep Stiles had fallen.


End file.
